


Mindblowing

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [53]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8649298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: Athos makes good on that suggestion, and Porthos is completely overwhelmed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



> I do not regret that title. Not even a little.

Outside snow is falling in thick flakes, hushing all sound, but the bedroom is warm, faintly illuminated by the lamps on the bedside tables. Porthos is on his back on the bed, already hard - a fact which is made more obvious by his shorts not sitting on his hips but just below, laying him bare.

Athos was the one who pulled them off, and now he’s lying beside Porthos, only half-naked himself, looking at Porthos as if he was a masterpiece Athos intends to write several dissertations about. It makes Porthos feel fluttery, and slightly unnerved, which is ridiculous of course. This is Athos. Athos has been looking at him for _decades_.

Yet Porthos is incredibly turned on. All it took was for Athos to suggest a blowjob, and he’s already shivery with anticipation. It doesn’t surprise him that Athos manages to get under his skin with such ease - Athos has always been special to him, has been his companion since the tender age of five.

It kills him a little that Athos trusts him enough to want this, that he wants to explore this aspect of their relationship when he doesn’t have to … an aspect he was so very uncomfortable with for so very long.

Maybe that’s why Porthos feels so very weak, why he’s rendered so helpless. He tries to get a grip on himself, turns his head and watches Aramis make himself comfortable on his side of the bed, encounters a broad, happy grin. “If I faint, you have to promise me to stop and wake me up, so I don’t miss anything.”

Porthos would swear to the fact that Aramis has never ever sounded this lecherous, but then this appears to be a night of firsts. It is the first time Athos has ever expressed an interest to explore while sober, the first time he offered to do more to Porthos than merely touch him.

“Will you get angry at me if I confess that I quite enjoy that timid look in your eyes?” Athos whispers, strokes his palm over Porthos’ abdomen, makes Porthos’ muscles jump beneath his touch. “It puts my own concerns into perspective.”

Porthos swallows dryly and makes himself stay silent. He could offer Athos that they stop this right here, could tell Athos that he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. But that’s not what this is about. Athos wants to, Porthos knows that. He wouldn’t be touching him right now if he didn’t. It’s just that Porthos has gotten so used to protecting him that he finds it very difficult to do anything else - to just let things happen.

“It also makes you look very appealing,” Athos adds after a moment of silence. “Very appealing indeed.”

“You like em shy, eh?” Porthos gets out, his voice hoarse. “I can give you a lot more of that if you wanna.” It’s ludicrous, but true. Porthos is blushing more than Aramis right now, and that’s saying something.

Athos huffs and smiles, returns his attention to Porthos’ flushed cock. “That part doesn’t look shy at all.” He moves, goes to his knees and pulls the shorts off Porthos’ legs, lets them drop to the floor beside the bed. “That’s better.”

Next to Porthos Aramis takes a deep breath. “This is awesome.”

Athos smiles at him. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself.”

“How could I not,” Aramis exclaims, sounding just as awed as he professed to be. He doesn’t say anything else, subsides and leans in to brush a kiss to Porthos’ shoulder - makes Porthos’ lashes flutter and his heart miss a beat. He’s feeling everything so much already and Athos hasn’t even put his mouth on him yet.

Porthos can tell that Aramis is happy for them, that he doesn’t envy them this moment, and that knowledge loosens something inside his chest, makes it easier to breathe. He’s just so lucky, having both of them.

Athos moves his hand then, strokes lower once again, and Porthos’ hips twitch upwards, all by themselves. His body feels hot already, oversensitive and eager, and Porthos has an inkling that he won’t last long tonight.

“Don’t pout if I come all over your face if you do so much as breathe on me,” he groans, clinging to the sheets with one hand. “I’m a bit touchy tonight.”

Aramis makes a strangled noise at that, but Athos merely smirks. “That bad, is it?”

“Yeah,” Porthos breathes out shakily. “That bad.”

Athos looks into his eyes for a moment, and then he lies back down on the bed, stretches out beside Porthos and pulls him into his arms. He holds Porthos as he kisses him, insistent and loving, soothing. Porthos loses himself in their kiss, pushes into Athos’ embrace and allows himself to be comforted, to be cared for.

He’s not used to this, is much more familiar with being the one to hold and comfort; but tonight it’s precisely what he needs, and Athos knows it. Porthos has no idea if this is how their dynamic will always play out from now on - if he’ll always feel this vulnerable with Athos, always be this insecure and unsteady.

It doesn’t matter. Athos clearly knows how to handle him, isn’t overwhelmed by Porthos’ behavior … seems to be enjoying it even. He keeps kissing Porthos, achingly sweet and tender, keeps caressing and stroking him, until Porthos feels relaxed and warm and not quite so nervous anymore.

“You’re irresistible like this,” Athos whispers into his ear, and goosebumps break out all over Porthos’ back. “I never knew what I was missing out on.”

“I’m not usually like this,” Porthos whispers back, and Athos holds him a little tighter for a moment, brushes a kiss to his cheek.

“I know.”

Behind them, Aramis sighs like he’s reading one of his romance novels. Porthos promptly has to smother a sudden giggle against Athos’ chest.

“May I have a go at your love-nozzle now?” Athos asks, stroking his head, and Porthos shivers, doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He _wants_ Athos to, there’s no doubt about it. But he’s already overwhelmed enough as it is.

“I won’t be mad if you come on my face,” Athos murmurs in an attempt to comfort him yet again. “I just want to make you feel good.”

Porthos has no idea how he hasn’t died yet. Going by the noises Aramis is making, neither does he.

Athos holds him for a moment longer, then he gently pushes him onto his back, looks Porthos up and down. “You’re already leaking so much.”

Porthos has to close his eyes. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

“Then the least I can do is make sure that you do not make a mess on the sheets.” Porthos can hear the smirk in Athos’ voice, and he loves that Athos can be this relaxed about it - that his memories of previous experiences don’t seem to bother him. He’s self-assured and calm, confident in his role as the one in charge, and Porthos feels neither surprise nor awkwardness when Athos moves to kneel between his legs.

“Open your eyes,” Athos tells him in a soft voice, and Porthos does, looks at Athos and swallows dryly as Athos leans over him, licks a wet stripe across his belly - laps up the mess Porthos has already made on his own skin.

It ignites sparks of arousal all over Porthos’ body, makes him feel boneless with pleasure, makes his cock twitch and leak all over himself.

“There,” he hears Athos say, his voice rough and low, entirely satisfied. “That isn’t so bad, is it?”


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos didn’t feel this much like a squirmy teenager when he was actually a squirmy teenager. To have Athos kneeling between his legs _does_ something to him, makes him breathless and over-sensitive, utterly unable to keep himself in check. He moans helplessly when Athos licks another wet stripe over his skin, can’t stop his cock from twitching and leaking profusely. He can’t stop staring at Athos’ face either, at his calm, curious expression, his obvious delight at rendering Porthos this defenseless.

Next to Porthos, Aramis is suspiciously quiet. Well, maybe it’s not that suspicious. Aramis is probably just as overwhelmed as he is - trying his best not to make too much noise, not to come into his shorts just from watching Athos breathe on Porthos’ cock.

Because that’s what he’s doing, exhaling warm, steady puffs of air over Porthos’ length, almost killing Porthos with anticipation. “You have a very impressive cock,” Athos decides eventually, and then he sticks out his tongue and licks it like a lollipop, and Porthos makes a keening noise and presses his eyes closed.

Athos hums, like a scientist pleased with an experiment, and does it again. His tongue is warm and it feels amazing, especially when he gives it a little twirl that makes Porthos’ toes curl. He hears Aramis draw in one ragged breath after the other, and that affects him, too - to know that Aramis is feeling this much just from watching them.

Despite his distraction Porthos feels the mattress shift under his legs, and he opens his eyes to see Athos change position, sees him stretch out and get comfortable before he gives his cock another experimental lick.

Porthos moans and his hips twitch upward, and Athos reaches out to hold him down. It might just be the single hottest thing that has ever happened to Porthos, possibly because he feels actually too weak to push out of Athos’ hold. Aramis clearly agrees. He’s moaning without restraint, and Porthos knows him well enough to guess that Aramis’ cock is leaking almost as much as his own.

He can’t focus on that right now, because Athos has clearly decided that it’s time to finish him off.

As far as Porthos knows, the last time Athos attempted anything even remotely close to giving head was more than ten years ago. So it comes as something of a surprise when it turns out that Athos doesn’t suck at it; pun intended.

Maybe it’s because Athos is so _calm_. He takes his time to lick up and down Porthos’ length, doesn’t forget to give his balls attention, and makes a point of cataloguing Porthos’ reactions to achieve optimum results. Yet with all his exploring, it doesn’t feel clinical to Porthos. Because Athos is smiling to himself, ever so faintly, keeps stroking his hands over Porthos’ skin in an absent minded manner that wants nothing for caress and pleasure.

It’s obvious that Athos isn’t doing this for his own satisfaction, obvious that by pleasuring Porthos, he’s pleasing himself. It’s selfless and wonderful, and Porthos’ hapless heart insists on adding its own reverberation to the tumultuous reception of Athos’ efforts already going on.

Porthos can’t help staring at him in aroused amazement, his voice a helpless groan locked deep in his throat, as his hands grasp fistfuls of sheets to keep themselves from grasping Athos’ hair instead. He’s grateful when Aramis shifts closer to him on the mattress, when he turns on his side to put his head on Porthos’ shoulder and brush kiss after kiss to his hot skin.

“Have you practised this?” Porthos eventually gets out, sounding stunned and bewildered to his own ears, only to see Athos grin ever so slightly when he looks up to meet his eyes.

“Did you expect me to go into this unprepared?”

And then he goes down on Porthos, down and down, his throat relaxing around Porthos’ cock, and Porthos thinks he might actually faint. Aramis whimpers and clings to him, evidently just as overwhelmed as Porthos, presses into Porthos’ side and holds on to him. Porthos whispers Athos’ name only to groan it right after, can’t stop staring at the sight of Athos’ lips stretched around his girth, can’t believe that this amazing feeling is his best friend deepthroating him as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Porthos does his best to keep still although he can imagine nothing better than to fuck Athos’ hot mouth, to make him choke on his cock until he comes down his throat. But this is _Athos_ , and even though he looks far more calm and collected than should be possible under the circumstances, Porthos knows that it isn’t that easy.

Athos can only look this calm because he’s in control - because Porthos is _not_ grabbing his hair and fucking his mouth.

Then again Porthos probably couldn’t take that control away from Athos even if he tried. He feels weak all over, his bones turned to liquid mush, his muscles too tingly with excitement to do him any good. All he can do is stare as Athos’ head bops up and down, over and over and over again.

He’s so good at it that it makes Porthos’ head spin, the sensations chasing each other up and down his spine too good to be true.

Porthos is entirely at Athos’ mercy, and it feels amazing, even more so when he hears Aramis moan and feels him shift beside him, realizes that he must be touching himself. Part of Porthos wants to turn his head and look, the rest of him is too focussed on Athos - on the flush spreading down his shoulders, on the breathless little noises Athos keeps making, on the way his hands feel on Porthos’ hips.

Porthos is so close already, can feel that tingling sensation that heralds his climax and is utterly defenseless against its approach. If he could, he’d drag this out for much longer, but he can’t … not today, not when Athos is the one doing this to him, when Porthos had no idea this was ever going to happen.

“I’m close,” he manages to tell Athos, wants to warn him so he doesn’t have to swallow his come if he doesn’t want to. Giving Athos sufficient time to pull back is nothing but good manners. Athos smiles at him, eyes grateful and sparkling with mischief, and Porthos realizes that his friend has every intention of swallowing, doesn’t want to pull away.

It’s that realization that makes Porthos come, makes him lose all coherence and give in to pleasure. His orgasm isn’t so much savage as thorough - leaves him weak and exhausted, utterly satisfied. He doesn’t close his eyes when he falls over the edge, watches Athos instead, sees him shiver and tremble, is all too aware of the way Athos’ fingers dig into his skin, hard enough to leave bruises.

Porthos whimpers when Athos pulls off his cock, and Athos looks into his eyes, doesn’t try to hide the storm raging in his own. He smiles when Porthos whispers his name, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and lies down next to Porthos, holds him tight. “Did I do good?”

His voice is wrecked, and he reaches up to touch his throat, a curious expression on his face.

“You were amazing,” Porthos tells him, breathless with satisfaction and wonder, turns his head to find Aramis flushed and just as breathless, licking his hand clean with an expression of stupefied bliss on his face.

Aramis looks up when he feels him looking, blushes and lowers his hand, hides his face against Porthos’ neck. “That was really hot.”

Porthos nods in silent agreement and pulls Athos closer, nuzzles his cheek, closes his eyes. He feels sated and cared for, vulnerable but safe, and he doesn’t think he’s going to forget this night any time soon.

He doesn’t even experience any particular desire to find out when and how Athos learned to deepthroat like that. It’s not important. Yes, well, maybe a little important. But he can check his naughty drawer tomorrow, see if Athos stole one of his dildos. Because that would explain a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos drifts for a long, good while. He needs the time to find his way back to himself, to collect his thoughts and reboot his brain. Outside the snow is still falling thickly, the streetlamp far below casting up the faintest of orange shimmers to illuminate the night sky in front of the bedroom window. They’ve forgotten to close the curtains.

Porthos grumbles and reaches out, stretches his arm as far as it goes, but he still can’t reach the fabric, grunts in frustration. Next to him, Athos sighs. “Why don’t you let me do that.” He sits up and slides out of bed, slips into the gap between bed and window, and closes the curtains, shuts out the world.

When he returns to bed he pulls up the comforters from the foot of the mattress, covers Aramis and Porthos with one, and takes the second for himself. He doesn’t lie back down but sits cross-legged on the bed, pulls the comforter over his shoulders and bites his lip. “So? How did I do?”

For a moment all Porthos can do is look up at him, speechless. Then he reaches out, grabs Athos’ arm and pulls him close, comforter and everything, hugs him tight. “What do you think?”

Athos wrangles one arm out of his comforter and strokes his hand over Porthos’ chest, his expression unexpectedly bashful. “You seemed to enjoy yourself.”

Porthos can’t with him. “Love, you made Aramis come without layin’ a hand on him.”

Athos looks at him through his lashes. “I am rather certain that he made himself come, Porthos.”

“Nope, that was you, and you alone,” Aramis sighs, making himself comfortable with his head on Porthos’ shoulder. “Because you were amazing.” He reaches out and covers Athos’ hand with his own, tangles their fingers on Porthos’ chest.

Porthos is very pleased with them both. He turns his head and cranes his neck, brushes a kiss to Aramis’ forehead, and another one to Athos’. Something’s nagging at the back of his mind, and he doesn’t think that he’ll be able to fall asleep without bringing it up. So he gives Athos another kiss, on the cheek this time, and squeezes him ever so gently. “And how are you doin’? Was that alright for you?”

Athos basically melts into him. “Yes, I am feeling quite good. I enjoyed having you at my mercy like that. No wonder you derive so much pleasure from tying Aramis to the bed.”

Aramis stutters something incomprehensible and Porthos grins. This feels almost better than Athos going down on him, makes him feel giddy with happiness - not for himself, but for Athos. “I’m glad,” is all he gets out, are all the words his overwhelmed brain supplies him with.

But it’s enough, makes Athos dive out of his own comforter and under theirs, makes him press into Porthos and hold him, skin to skin. Porthos loves him so much that it hurts a little, and he takes a deep breath, pulls Athos on top of him, gives him a kiss. He’s quite aware that Athos isn’t aroused, that he wasn’t while blowing him, but he doesn’t think it matters.

Arousal is different for Athos than it is for him and Aramis, and it always was. He’s far more likely to get hard from listening to them fuck than while being involved himself, and that’s quite alright. They can work with that - have worked with that. Their relationship never was about sex anyway.

“Do you expect me to sleep like this?” Athos asks him now, not quite drawling but close, and Porthos stretches luxuriously, enjoys Athos’ weight on top of him.

“Let me have this a little longer,” he says, and Athos stills, lifts his head to look at him.

“Oh, you big marshmallow,” he murmurs eventually, dips his head and nuzzles Porthos’ cheek, huffs in amusement when Aramis takes the opportunity to drop some kisses of his own on him. He kisses him back, sweet and easy, and Aramis hums happily, snuggles a little closer.

Porthos is ready to burst. He allows Athos to slide off him after a while, and then he clears his throat, looks up at the ceiling. “I’m naked.”

“Oh, we’re aware,” Athos drawls, the amusement thick in his voice.

“What I mean is that I’m not used to sleepin’ like this,” Porthos clarifies. “I want my boxers.”

Athos heaves an enormous sigh. “And here I was under the impression that you enjoyed a bit of exhibitionism now and then.”

“I’m under a blanket,” Porthos points out. “How is this exhibitionism?”

“With you a steel covered plating would be insufficient,” Athos mutters, and slides out of bed once more. “Where did I drop those outrageous boxers of yours?”

“I don’t know,” Porthos grins, following him with his eyes. “I was kind of preoccupied at the time. And they’re not outrageous, just because there’s dragons on them.”

“I beg to differ,” Athos huffs. “Here they are.” He grabs them off the floor and flings them at Porthos’ outstretched hands. “You are certain you do not want me to put them on you?”

“Quite,” Porthos grunts, wriggling into his boxers underneath the blanket. “The other way around is far sexier.” He sighs once he’s covered, lies back down and pulls Aramis into his original position. “Better.” He’s beginning to feel tired, sated and comfortable as he could possibly be, and he knows that he’s got a night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep ahead of him.

“Next time you’re in the mood we’ll have to let Aramis pay you back,” he murmurs when Athos joins them in bed once more and turns off his bedside lamp. Aramis promptly holds his breath, and Athos makes a soft noise of amusement.

“I shall alert him as soon as the mood takes me.” Athos watches as Aramis rolls around to turn off the lamp on his side off the bed, sounds vulnerable and hesitant when he speaks again. “I hope I won’t make you wait too long.”

Aramis’ reply is instant, and far more reassuring than Porthos expected. “Ah, it’s going to be worth it, no matter how long it takes.”

Porthos smiles. “You enjoy a bit of anticipation, don’t you, kitten?”

“Yes, I do,” Aramis whispers, and this time Athos is the one to reach out and take his hand.

“Thank you. Both of you.”

“Always,” Aramis and Porthos reply as one, and Athos takes a deep breath, sighs as if the weight of the world was taken off his shoulders.

“Always,” he echoes softly.


End file.
